


Time's Bitter Flood (Rising)

by stcrispin



Category: British Actor RPF, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pining, emotionally constipated man-babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stcrispin/pseuds/stcrispin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aidan pines. Dean is unhelpful. Graham makes some (not-so) veiled threats. Lee waits on the sidelines. Richard is blissfully unaware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time's Bitter Flood (Rising)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little WIP that's been floating around in the 'ol noggin for a while now. Please excuse the massive liberties I've taken with various cast member's bio, life-stories, shooting timelines, etc. Unfortunately I do not own any of The Hobbit Cast or crew (though if any of you are in possession of the deeds to one Mr. Armitage, please get in contact) and of course, this is all entirely a work of fiction; I do not claim to know anything about, or wish to intrude upon their respective personal lives.  
> Tags to be added and ratings due to change in later chapters. Un-beta'ed so all spelling/grammatical errors are my own. As that one post on tumblr says: my writing style could best be described as “probably more commas than is entirely necessary”. My deepest and most sincere apologies.  
> The title is Yeats.

“You know, rumour has it he once saved a litter of new-born kittens from a burning orphanage built by Mother Teresa herself in the desolate slums of Calcutta.”

“Mm?” Aidan is jolted from his reverie in the form of a bony elbow insistently digging into his ribs. Tearing his gaze away from the opposite end of the canteen, he turns to regard the grinning Northern-Irishman beside him with a tilt of the head. “Who did?”

“Why, the fair leader of our company, of course!” James jerks his chin toward a fully costumed Richard standing by the salad bar chatting with Ian in between sips of coffee from a styrofoam cup.  

“Oh, aye. Quite the golden-boy indeed, our Richie,” he continues, pointed canines bared in a grin the cast had come to learn (the hard way) did not bode well for those on the receiving end.

The gleam of Nesbitt’s teeth and that mischievous twinkle in his eye were indicative of one, if not a combination of two, or (if you’re particularly unfortunate) all three of the following scenarios: A) You’re about to receive a horrendous slagging, capable of reducing even the hardiest of men to tears (though Graham will still vehemently insist that some prosthetic glue had trickled directly into his eye). B)  You’re soon to find something lurid and/or incriminating in your trailer/on your person, or C) You’re approximately three shots of Hennessy away from dancing on (and shortly thereafter, tumbling off) grimy tabletops and throwing the very lining of your stomach up in a dank back-alley or outside the window of a  moving cab.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Aidan drops his gaze to the fruit salad before him, drizzling it with Greek yoghurt in an attempt to ignore the glint of shark-like teeth from the corner of his eye.

“I heard him telling McTavish the other day that he’s just a few short steps away from developing a cure for world hunger and the common cold, respectively,” James leans in closer until the tip of Bofur’s moustache is almost tickling his cheek. Dean, sitting opposite the pair, leans across the table to catch the words whispered conspiratorially in Aidan’s ear.  “In fact, legend has it that if you stare long enough you’ll discover that the sun does indeed shine directly out of his arse,” casting a sly wink to the chortling Kiwi, James drapes an arm across the Dubliner’s shoulder before leaning in even closer, his smirk damn-near _audible_ against Aidan’s ear. “I’ve seen you giving our Richie the moon-eyes all morning. So tell me, young Turner.. _Have you seen the light_?”

Apparently consumed by a fit of choking, Dean splutters a mouthful of All-Bran down the front of Fili’s furs. Grimacing at the spray of fibre-laden cardboard that landed in his tea, Aidan huffs an exasperated sigh and spears a chunk of pineapple on the end of his spork with more force than is perhaps strictly necessary.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re harping on about, Nesbitt,” he grumbles, bottom lip jutting forward in what could be construed as a sulking pout. “Don’t you have sweets to be robbing from unsuspecting children? Some puppies to dropkick into a river or something?”

“Ah, no need to play coy with me, lad,” James jostles him lightly, obviously choosing to ignore the stealing-candy-from-a-baby remark. It had only happened once, after all. “You’ve been besotted with the man from day one and, if you don’t mind me saying so; you’re about as subtle as a brass band in a chapel about it.”

Aidan does mind him saying so. He minds very much. Not enough, it seems, to be able to form the words around his tongue which appears to have swollen to twice its size while he fights against the heated flush he can feel rising to his cheeks.

“Shut it. I don’t-“ he stammers unintelligibly. “It’s not—“

“Leave the man be, Jimmy,” Dean, who has apparently recovered from near-asphyxiation, smirks as he pats down the worst of the stains on his furs with a balled-up paper napkin. “You act like you’ve never been in _luuurve_.”

“ _Not_ in love,” Aidan hisses, perhaps a bit too quickly. Shaking his head, he drops his gaze and stabs at some more exotic fruits, irritation seeping into something decidedly more sombre. “I barely even speak to him..”

“Only ‘cause you’re too busy sitting in the corner composing odes to the man’s every individual eyelash,” James contributes, dodging the grape that is subsequently sent soaring directly towards his eyeball with a throaty chuckle.

“I can’t be arsed dealing with your shite today, Nesbitt.” Aidan mutters, moving to stand until James’ hand clasps his shoulder, pressing him back down into his seat.

“Ah, don’t be such a sourpuss, Turner me auld flower. You know I’m only pullin’ your leg,” he says, popping a chunk of watermelon in his mouth with a wink that shouldn’t be as endearingly roguish on a man fast approaching fifty as it is. “I’ll leave you boys be to your odes and your sonnets.. Let me know if ye need help composing a filthy Limerick or three.” Giving Aidan’s hair a ruffle, he stands and flashes a final toothy grin before marching off to bellow at someone out of their line of sight. “Oi, McTavish! You better not have eaten all them sausage rolls again! I’m so hungry I could bloody well eat the lamb of God!”

Dean grins fondly at the sight of the James’ retreating figure before flicking his gaze down to Aidan, his expression softening upon noticing the mournful frown written across the Irishman’s dark features. He stands and rounds the table, sliding into the seat next to Aidan, nudging him lightly with his shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts there, bud?”

Aidan casts him a reproachful look from the corner of his eye. “Gonna cost you more than that.”

Dean says nothing, but cocks a thick eyebrow, tilting his head in a way that makes Aidan realize what an utter petulant little shit he’s being.

“Christ. I’m sorry, Deano,” he says, shoulders slumping, huffing a heavy breath through his nose. “I honestly don’t mean to be such a pissy bastard. I don’t know what’s come over me..”

Dean’s lips thin. Nose wrinkling slightly, he hesitates. “...You have been pining quite a bit lately.”

“Pining? I don’t _pine_. I’m not a bloody Yorkshire terrier.”

“You’ve definitely been pining, Aid. _A lot_. You stare over at him alternating between looking as if someone’s kicked your puppy or you’re the puppy that’s been kicked.”

“I don’t do that, do I?”

Dean purses his lips and gives him a grim, apologetic look.

“Jesus,” Aidan groans, burying his face in his hands. “I’ve become one of _those_ people.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean slings his arm over Aidan’s shoulder, drawing him close against his side. “You’re not that bad.” The unspoken ‘ _yet’_ hangs heavy and palpable in the air between them. Sensing the rising tension, Dean sighs and rests his cheek on his companions shoulder. “C’mon, Aid.. It isn’t like you to be so.. melancholy. Has something changed?”

“ _Nothing’s_ changed! That’s the problem,” he sighs, leaning on the Kiwi propped up against his shoulder. “I mean, we’re three quarters of the way through the shoot and I still can barely get out a ‘hey, how’re things, Rich?’ without spewing verbal fucking diarrhoea all over him, or else I become a complete fucking mute gawking up at him looking about as lost and confused as a bloke that’s been left behind on the moon!”

Aidan still didn’t know which was worse: the agonizing hour he’d spent next to Richard in the make-up trailer having their prosthetics removed one evening where the only responses to the man’s polite attempt at small talk were a combination of unintelligible garbled vowels and the nervous guffaws of laughter of a deranged man. That, or the time when Richard had approached him in between takes and had commented on the mild weather, leading Aidan to regale the poor man with the tale of how as a teen he’d accidentally sat on (and subsequently squashed) his sister’s  Chinese hamster and how he’d executed the perfect cover-up by purchasing an identical one the next day, the only flaw in his ingenious plan being the rather macabre discovery of Mr. Jingles floating in the toilet bowl Aidan had (unsuccessfully) tried to flushed the blasted rodent down. He still cringed at the thought of Richard’s alarmed expression and how he’d promptly excused himself from Aidan’s company, citing an important matter he’d forgotten to discuss with Jed, who Aidan was pretty sure had already finished up and gone home for the day.

Dean gives a rather undignified snort. “Richard’s just a bit shy, is all. You just have to let him warm up to you a bit. Shouldn’t be a problem with you, hm? You’re not exactly the type to ever be lost for words.”

“I know, right?!” Aidan gesticulates wildly. “My parents are still convinced I grew up with undiagnosed ADHD or some shit. I was suspended from two different secondary schools and the last one would only keep me if I sat on my own at the front of every class. Teacher’s used to say I had ‘the _curse_ of the gab’- like come on!”

“I don’t doubt it for a second, mate,” Dean sits up straight, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “We’d barely known each other five seconds before I knew your birthday, your allergies, passport number and your favourite Bob Marley song.”

“Yeah, but that’s grand, Deano, because you’re _you_.”

“Oh, _cheers_ , love!”

“You know what I mean,” Aidan grimaces. “He just has this _effect_ on me, you know? I become this whole other person.. Like, I actually really want to make the right impression with him. So much so, that I either majorly over or under compensate and either way, end up looking like a complete fucking pleb.”

“You didn’t really want to make the right impression with the rest of us?”

“Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m trying to say here.”

“No. Sorry. I get it. Look, Richard’s a cool guy. Beneath  the brooding, macho, alpha-male exterior he’s really this giant humble teddy bear that’s probably more concerned about the good impression he’s trying to make rather than the other way round. Just _talk_ to him, yeah?”

Aidan rolls his eyes before levelling Dean with a dead-eyed glare. “Wow, the heavens are rolling open in light of such a glorious epiphany,” he deadpans. “ _Just talk to him.._ Why on earth didn’t I think of that? Truly, Master O’Gorman, your sagely wisdom knows no bounds.”

Dean’s mouth is half-open, about to launch a snarky retort when eyes his eyes drift away to focus on something over his head; an impish grin dancing across his expression that Aidan immediately knows can only mean bad things are in store.

“ _Richard_ ,” Dean beams and Aidan pales, shoulders stiffening and a knot of tension coiling uncomfortably in his stomach. “How’re you this morning, mate?”

He _feels_ rather than sees the hulking frame of the Dwarven King sidling up behind him; a broad shadow creeping over the plastic table Aidan seriously considers slithering beneath for all of three seconds before arriving at the conclusion that crawling beneath furniture at his age would probably be seen less as an act of the endearing sort and more of a characteristic of the clinically insane.      

“Very well thanks, Dean,” comes the reply from over his shoulder and Aidan doesn’t dare to turn around just yet because _Christ_ , that voice. It’s as if chocolate, velvet and gravel all engaged in a filthy polyamorous threesome and gave birth to the spine-tingling, knee-buckling, toe-clenching offspring that is that _sinfully_ sexy baritone. “It’s taken me a bit longer than usual to wake up today, but I imagine I’ll be more than alert when the time comes to get into those barrels again.”

Dean smiles amiably and nods in agreement, either oblivious to, or simply unperturbed, by the vicious death-glare Aidan is regarding him with. Most likely the latter. Twat.

 “Tell me about it. The poor ladies in make-up all had to get used to me passing out and snoring while having my prosthetics done. Not all of us can afford the luxury of an extra hour or two in bed while the rest of us get beautified like pretty-boy here,” Dean chucks him under the chin and Aidan wonders if it is possible to cause someone’s head to spontaneously combust through sheer will and telekinetic force. “Isn’t that right, Aid?”

Aidan turns then, craning his neck to regard the man towering over him with a tight smile he prays to God won’t be misconstrued as an expression that suggests he’s suffering from chronic IBS.

“Hey there, Rich,” he manages, fingers curling into the fabric of Kili’s breeches. “How’re you keeping?”

Shite. They’ve covered that already, haven’t they?. Tired and barrels. Fucking Dean hogging all the good small-talk for himself. Dickhead.

If Richard is bothered by having to repeat himself, he doesn’t show it. “Good, good. No complaints. Not yet at least,” he smiles over the lip of his cup. “And yourself?”

“Super!” Aidan bleats, far too enthusiastically if Dean’s eyebrow twitch is anything to go by. “I mean, it’s still early and we’ve still got to face the whole afternoon crammed into barrels in bollock-freezing water, so that’s likely to change pretty fast. Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to watching the crew try to wedge Bombur into one of them barrels again.”

Richard chuckles; a low guttural sound that rumbles up his throat. Thick and sultry, it reminds Aidan of the treacle his Mam used while making bread. “Ah, yes. Poor Stephen. Quite the spectacle to behold indeed.”

Aidan guffaws. “It’s like watching six full grown men trying to shove a marshmallow through a keyhole.”

He’s then treated to the glorious sight of the thick column of Richard’s neck as he throws his head back with a bark of laughter. “I’m just glad it’s him and not me in that fat-suit,” he says and Aidan just about tears his gaze away from Richard’s Adam’s apple to meet his eyes. “It’s boiling out there already and it’s only going to get hotter as the day goes on. Though I daresay we’ll cool off pretty suddenly once we hit the water.”

“I reckon the temperature will be the least of our worries if the current isn’t any kinder to us today.” Dean contributes from over Aidan’s shoulder. He’d almost forgotten the Kiwi was still there. Huh.

Richard shifts his weight from one foot to the other, dropping his gaze as his cheeks flush the most endearing shade of pink.“Ah.. I was hoping people didn’t notice the stunties dragging me out,“ he grins in that self-deprecating way Richard does and it’s all Aidan can do not to give into the temptation to throw himself from his seat and _lick_ the blush from those cheeks. “It wouldn’t be a proper gig for me if I didn’t manage a near-drowning experience somehow..”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Dean bats a dismissive hand. “Bastard current took a few of the lads out past the ropes just a few minutes later. Fuck, the look on Callen’s face was priceless.”

Aidan nods enthusiastically. “And needless to say, all the awards go to McTavish for capsizing the ‘capsize-proof’ barrel.”

“Mc Tavish did what now?” comes the low growl from across the canteen before the behemoth of a dwarf that is Dwalin stomps over to stand by Richard’s side. “What exactly did McTavish do?”

“Pulled a Titanic,” Dean supplies. Biting back a smirk with little success, he is met with a questioning glare from Graham before he continues. “Y’know; sank the unsinkable: the barrels WETA _guaranteed_ absolutely would not capsize.”

“Fuck off, O’Gorman,” Graham sneers menacingly. “I’d wager there was people back in the UK heard you shrieking like a banshee up in that mechanical tree the other day.”

Dean drops his smile like a hot potato. Richard stifles a chuckle with the back of his hand, which has Aidan grinning like a loon until Graham jabs a thick finger towards his nose.

“And you,” he barks, causing Aidan to wince, any traces of amusement rapidly dissipating from his features. “I’ve still got video evidence of you getting all misty-eyed singing Tina Turner at that Karaoke bar last month, so you ought to tread carefully or else it’ll miraculously be leaked online for all your internet fan club to see.”

Unable to restrain himself, Richard sputters into his fist. Aidan would almost resent him if his Goddamn eyes didn’t look so bloody gorgeous positively agleam with mirth.

“I wouldn’t have thought you to be a Tina fan, Aidan?” Having composed himself, Richard is looking at him expectantly now, his mouth slanted in that wry crooked grin of his. Aidan can feel his pulse in his tongue. As the room begins to spin around him, he vaguely wonders if this is what having an aneurysm feels like. Fuck. One of those would probably come as a relief at this stage.

“M’not—not really,” he mumbles, dropping his gaze as if finding sudden interest in his boots. “Mam used to have her records blaring round the house when I was younger.. Only natural I’d pick up a few of the lyrics along the way.”

“A _few_ of the lyrics?” Dean chimes in from behind. Not for the first time today, Aidan resists the temptation to strangle the Kiwi with his own braids. “Mate, you sang four verses without so much as taking a breath before singing your own bloody harmonies- however the fuck you managed that- and don’t get me started on the dance mo-“

“ _Alright_ ,” Aidan cuts across with a hiss while he still has some minute shred of dignity intact. “So I can appreciate a good classic when I hear one. Crucify me.” In an attempt to redeem himself, he continues, pouting only slightly; “and I wasn’t getting emotional over the song, McTavish.. That bloody fog machine was messing with my eyes.”

Graham snorts, unconvinced. “Is that why you had to run straight to the Jacks when you came off stage?”

Aidan’s too mortified to even attempt a retort. Clenching his jaw, he wills a massive sinkhole to form beneath his feet and swallow him whole as the heat begins to rush furiously to his cheeks. He’s surprised then to hear Richard’s gentle voice cut across Dean’s gales of laughter.

“It reminded you of home,” he says. Aidan lifts his gaze to meet startling oceanic-blue eyes soft and radiating warmth. “The song, I mean.. It reminded you of being at home with your family.”

“Yeah.. Yeah, it did. It was one of Mam’s favourites,” Aidan can feel a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as Graham rolls his eyes and huffs a long-suffering sigh. “Herself and my sister had a whole routine worked out and all.. Used to hop around the kitchen like mentals. Drove Da wild.”

“It’s the little things that remind you of home out of nowhere that hit you the hardest. I can empathize.” Richard’s kind smile looks somewhat foreign on the Dwarven King’s face, though is no less meaningful for it. “I got rather emotional in a diner last Thursday when I saw they had trifle on the menu- my father’s specialty, you see. We’d have it every Sunday without fail after the roast. My parents would have a glass of port each while my brother Chris and I would practically wrestle over the last portion.” His smile is warm with nostalgia; his eyes sliding out of focus, lost in a memory far away.

 “It’s really only ever at Christmas now we all get together for those kind of dinners.” His gentle sigh is almost wistful; the warm smile wavering slightly. “I was having lunch with Lee when I saw they served trifle and realized I might still be here on the other side of the world for Christmas while Chris gets all the dessert to himself and I suppose it just.. hit me a lot harder than I was expecting. Poor Lee didn’t even know what a trifle was!” He seems to come back to the moment then as the spots of colour have returned high on his cheeks and his smile has twisted into a sheepish grin. “M’sorry, I’m rambling on like an idiot again..”

“No, no,” Aidan just about holds himself back from reaching out to take the older man’s hand in his own. “You’re not rambling at all.. I get it. Seriously, I do.” He desperately wants to tell Richard how he couldn’t stop crying for nearly two hours after his last Skype call with his sister, but judging by the raised eyebrows Graham’s currently regarding him with and the shit-eating smirk he just _knows_ O’Gorman’s wearing behind his back, it probably wouldn’t be received as well as he’d wish.

Instead, he clears his throat, tries not to think of Richard dining alone with Lee and offers his best trademark toothy grin. “But hey, once we get back to the Northern Hemisphere in a few months we’ll probably all be dying to get back here again. Best make the most of it ‘til then.”

 _There’s_ that warm smile again and Aidan could swear he and Richard are the only two inhabitants of the universe in that moment until with a clap to his shoulder; Dean brings him hurtling back to reality.

“That’s the spirit, Turner,” he croons in that sing-song cadence. “You can put your new philosophy into practice when we hit Welly tonight for the Jedi Knight’s birthday.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Richard curses and Aidan marvels at how the man can even make faecal matter sound appealing. “I completely forgot about that. I’m meant to be going over my confrontation scene with Lee tonight, but I can’t skip off on Jed like that.” He pats his trousers, presumably in search for his phone before realising he’s still very much clothed in his Dwarven gear, which consists of neither pockets nor a cellular device. He scratches his beard before offering a sheepish grin. “I better go call him and reschedule. One night shouldn’t make much of a difference. See you guys back on set, yeah?”

Graham clasps his shoulder while Dean waves his farewell. Aidan can barely manage more than a tight-lipped pitiful semblance of a smile; his heart wrenching in his chest as something sickeningly close to bitter envy begins to simmer in the pit of his stomach.

He watches Richard stride out of the canteen before turning to Dean. “Do they do that much?”

“Does who what?”

“Richard and Lee,” Aidan can feel his facade of nonchalance begin to slip, but somehow can’t bring himself to care all that much. “Do they rehearse together in private after hours a lot?”

“What’s it to you?” Graham folds his arms over his broad chest, his stance made all the more menacing for Dwalin’s tattoos and vicious knuckle dusters. “You jealous, Turner?”

“M’not jealous,” Aidan relies; perhaps, once again, far too quickly. “Just curious, is all.  I never heard of Rich rehearsing with anyone else in private before.”

“Him and Martin definitely went over some of their scenes alone a good few times,” Dean supplies, much to Aidan’s chagrin; because of course he’s fucking right. There was a period of time a few weeks previous where Martin and Richard would visit each other’s flats until the early hours of the morning almost every night rehearsing some of their one-on-one scenes. Looking back, Aidan had never really been bothered by it then. If he had ever experienced some fleeting moment of jealousy over Martin spending so much time alone with the man he adored, it certainly wasn’t to the magnitude of this sort of petty resentment he found himself harbouring towards the lanky Texan.

 “Keepin’ a close eye on him, are we?” Graham asks hotly, fixing him with a withering glare that has Aidan mustering all his restraint so as not to fold in upon himself in his seat.

“Wh- I- _no_ ,” he sputters; a true paragon of articulation.

“Good,” Graham nods sternly, “because I always am.” With one last scathing glare for good measure, he turns on his boot and saunters over to the other end of the canteen to join William and John at a table, leaving Aidan slack-jawed and staring agape into the space Graham had occupied moments ago.

“Did.. Did Dwalin just give me the shovel talk?”

“I think so, mate,” Dean’s toothy grin is entirely unsympathetic. He’s enjoying this, the prick. “Fuck, he went De Niro in Meet the Parents on your ass, didn’t he? Next thing he’ll start blabbing on about the circle of trust.”

“I feel so.. violated.”

Dean snorts. “Don’t worry about it, mate. Graham took on the role of Richard’s clandestine guardian before boot camp even started.. You done with that?” he gestures towards Aidan’s abused and neglected fruit salad before taking it anyway, spearing a strawberry on his fork and popping into his mouth. “Don’t get offended by it, alright?” he says around his mouthful. “McTavish means well; he just likes to look after Rich. God knows the man forgets to do it himself a lot of the time. Nobody wants to see him get hurt.”

Aidan blinks and turns to regard Dean with wide eyes, mildly horrified and slightly offended. “I would never—“

“I’m not saying _you_ would,” Dean assuages gently, “or anyone else here, for that matter. Everyone’s just looking out for one another. Some just have more... assertive methods than others. Don’t take it personally, yeah?”

Aidan grumbles his begrudging assent, leaning against Dean’s shoulder. “Well he doesn’t have to worry about me getting anywhere near Richard anytime soon.. The poor man must think I’m a complete gobshite.”

“What was that line about stuffing a marshmallow into a keyhole?”

Aidan cringes, dropping his head into his hands with a groan.“Stop, please don’t remind-“

“The whole Tina Turner thing worked out better than expected, though. You two seemed to share a moment.”

“I’m going to throw myself into the fucking river and let the rapids take me.”

“For Christ’s sake, Aid,” Dean grips the back of his neck and draws him in close against his side. “Don’t be so fucking maudlin. It’s not that bad. Just get a few beers into you tonight; a bit of Dutch courage will have you chatting away to him in no time.”

“Mm.. Maybe.”

“Just not too much, mind you. Don’t want you suffering a massive snot and tear-fest of hysterics via Celine Dion”

Aidan scowls. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder what things would be like if Kazinsky never left.”

“Don’t get catty, love. Doesn’t suit you.”

Aidan heaves a tremendous sigh. “M’sorry,” he grumbles, snuggling into Dean’s side. “Low blow on my part.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he gives him a tight squeeze. “Just gimme a flash of those pearly whites and all’s forgiven.”

Aidan huffs before sitting up and offering the cheeriest smile he can muster, despite the uneasy sensation that’s settled in the pit of his stomach since Richard walked away.

“There it is,” Dean smirks and ruffles Aidan’s hair before standing up from the bench. “Now let’s get back down to set before they send out a search party like the last day. Don’t fancy another bollocking from Andy just yet.”

“I’d still swear over me Mam’s life he said ‘take fifty minutes’, not _fifteen_ ,” Aidan rolls his eyes and trudges out of the canteen alongside the blonde. “Apparently I suffer from _selective hearing_.”

“I wouldn’t believe it for a second,” Dean breathes in the crisp air that whips over them when they step outside. He gestures towards the river where the cast and crew have assembled along its bank; the barrels already bopping gently in the water. “C’mon then, sunshine; our noble steeds await.”

They stroll down the grassy knoll towards the water’s edge where the dwarves are getting ready to climb into their respective barrels while some of the crew are attempting to shoo away a gaggle of curious geese who have paddled along to inspect the equiment. Peter and Andy are labouring over the angles of the camera dolly while the actors chat and squabble amongst themselves. Dean all but jumps onto Adam's back, eliciting a high-pitched squawk from the diminutive actor. Aidan is too entranced watching Richard having his prosthetics touched up by Tami to notice Mark coming perilously close to falling into the water fully costumed, until an uproarious chorus of laughter rings out across the group.

He whips around to see what all the commotion is about only to be met with a pair of stormy blue eyes fixing him with the most vicious of death glares. Blinking furiously, Aidan clears his throat and shrinks away from Graham’s penetrative gaze, sidling over to stand by Adam’s side, away from the burly Scot and the blissfully unaware Richard, respectively.

It’s going to be a long fucking day.


End file.
